


omniscient

by nefertiti



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cunnilingus, F/F, Female Enjolras, Female Grantaire, Femslash, Rule 63, basically lesbians ok, lesbians and angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 00:55:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nefertiti/pseuds/nefertiti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They all gathered at Grantaire’s flat under the guise of a book club. They sat in the sitting area and discussed politics, and literature, and sciences, and hopes, and desires; calling each other by their surnames like old society gentlemen. These women were intelligent, brave, adventurous and most importantly they were chained by the expectations of their society.</p>
            </blockquote>





	omniscient

They all gathered at Grantaire’s flat under the guise of a book club. They sat in the sitting area and discussed politics, and literature, and sciences, and hopes, and desires; calling each other by their surnames like old society gentlemen. These women were intelligent, brave, adventurous and most importantly they were chained by the expectations of their society.

There was nothing for them outside of the hope of becoming someone’s wife.

* * *

 

Adélaide Enjolras was the only daughter to a wealthy family. She lived well and she was expected to continue her life in the same way for the rest of her life. Honourable, gentle, kind, smiling at all times. Her life wasn’t a terrible one, but it was one that she did not want. She’d met Constance, who they all now called Combeferre, at one of her parents’ bi-monthly masquerade balls. They wore masks and discussed Rousseau while Combeferre slowly sipped her wine.

They made plans to meet again, and they became quite close. Enjolras met Aimée Courfeyrac during one of their meetings. She and Combeferre were sitting in the parlour knitting while hiding Trousson’s biography under their work when Courfeyrac stopped by. She and Combeferre had been friends since they were children. Combeferre introduced her to Enjolras and after her “So what are you ladies partaking in on this fine afternoon?” turned into a heated debate on whether France is ready republicanism to become a societal norm, she became just as close to Enjolras as she was to Combeferre.

* * *

 

Genvieve Prouvaire, who often liked to be called Genevieve, was also the only daughter to a wealthy family. She was a strange dresser. After she bought any sort of skirts or gowns she sewed them in such a way that they often looked like pants. Her parents tried every way to get her to stop that uncivilized habit but she knew how to twist her words to talk them into not caring for a few moments. She was cunning, smart and beautiful; a perfect combination. She met Courfeyrac at a fan store where they had both set out to buy a new intricate design. Ivy Feuilly, who ran the tiny little store, had by chance been drawing the flag of Poland when they were at the counter, and Genvieve had involved her in a discussion lamenting the partitions of Poland during 1772. Courfeyrac mindlessly joined the conversation and in the end they had both left the store smiling, while Feuilly was just pleasantly surprised. It wasn’t often that people thought her opinions useful or worth listening to. They often just saw her as a stupid, little grisette and it was a refreshing change to be talked to and not talked over.

When they’d left the store, Courfeyrac had managed to insult both Prouvaire’s bonnet and petticoat and still get an indulging smile from the lady. “As the summer’s day drifts slowly into autumn, autumn into winter, winter into spring, I hope one day we meet again mademoiselle, to once again glimpse the joy you bring.” She walked away, her lofty voice trailing off and Courfeyrac grinned.

* * *

 

Grantaire, Bahorel and Bossuet had already known each other and had spent countless nights drinking brandy and arm wrestling in Bahorel’s room where he boarded.  Surprisingly enough they’d met each other at the convent where they had spent their childhoods. Geraldine Bahorel, Sophie L’Aigle and Camille Grantaire had all lived in a convent for the primary segment of their lives. They, all three had parents who were certainly not poor, but certainly didn’t have enough money to be considered wealthy, so they got their education where they could afford to get it. Their parents each paid sums of money to the convent when each girl left, to pay for their education and for not staying to become part of the sisterhood. They were each given a monthly allowance by their parents and allowed to live on their own in the city; if only they agreed to settle down and get married by the time they were twenty one.

Bossuet’s remaining parent, her mother, died soon after and all of her estate was left to her only son. Bossuet’s brother promised to split it with her if only she came home at once and wed the owner of a firm that he was trying to achieve a contact with. A fifty year old man, who wanted a pretty young wife; Bossuet refused.

Colette (sometimes fondly called Collllette by her friends) Joly, who was already a close friend of Prouvaire, met Bossuet right after she left the convent. They were both strolling in the park, Joly’s eyes firmly in the novel she was reading, when they collided into each other. Bossuet smiled as she was always good natured about her lack of grace, apologizing all the while. Joly looked mortified and also apologized profusely. They smiled at each other when they noticed they were both babbling the same things. They introduced themselves and sat on a park bench for a bit talking.

They became close friends after that.

When Joly found out that Bossuet was basically homeless, and was hopping between the couches of two good friends, she was aghast. She immediately went to her father and begged him for money to buy a gold necklace and she gave the money to Bossuet so that she could rent a room of her own. Bossuet refused at first, but she eventually gave in when Joly started to list the hazards of spending each night in a different bed and the amount of diseases she could already possess. Every month she asked her father for money for something or the other and she gave it to her friend.

The one thing all these girls had in common was that they were all expected to be married before they were one and twenty. It would have probably happened for all of them without them thinking anything of it if their paths hadn’t crossed. A meeting of like minds was not something that could easily be ignored or forgotten, and they all met again and again and again until they were all acquainted, until they had become a family. Now that the readers understand how these women are all connected we can continue our tale.

* * *

 

Today’s meeting, which was held at Grantaire’s quarters as per usual, ended on an oddly sombre note. Enjolras was generally the light of these meetings, in that her enthusiasm was catching. You would hear her talk and become enraptured, but it was never to the point of silence, she had the ability to make you want to join in on a conversation. Perhaps the first time you heard her speak you would be awestruck and dumbfounded, but after that she made you excited to learn new things just so that you can throw back an argument with the same ease that she did.

This night was different. She was distracted, and she talked very little.

Because of this they descended into frivolity. Bahorel and Courfeyrac talked about the newest way to wear their chemises under their clothes to make their chests look fuller and Prouvaire listened with a confused look on her face. She’d been wearing hers they way they spoke for as long as she could remember and she only really remembered getting scolded for it.

Bossuet and Joly, who were at the moment just as distracted as Enjolras, sat in the corner of the room holding each other’s hands and whispering into the other’s ears. Whatever they were talking about left them both looking dejected.

Combeferre, who seemed to be the only person to know why Enjolras was in a bad mood, gently rubbed circles into her back and whispered soothing words as Enjolras rested her head on the table.

Both Feuilly and Grantaire were caught up in a discussion about the most recent painting of an acclaimed artist which then turned into a compariosn of methods, although they both often snuck worried glances at Enjolras.

As the night winded down, they all left, promising to be back before the week was out.

* * *

 

Grantaire generally slept in the nude because she lived on her own and she didn’t see why she shouldn’t. Of course there were many reasons. Paris wasn’t exactly kind to women, men roam the streets and the ones disgusting enough found women to abuse. This is perhaps why she was frightened as she heard a banging on her door. She clutched her sheets to her curvy frame and shut her eyes tight; hoping whoever it was would go away. It was only when she heard a whispered shout of “Grantaire!” that she got up, and even then she did so hesitantly. She hurriedly grabbed a slip from her bedroom floor and went to her door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me!” was the whispered reply and Grantaire would know that voice anywhere.

“Enjolras.” Grantaire opened the door hastily.

“Why are you in such a state of undress?” Enjolras didn’t look scandalised or disgusted, only curious.

“It is warm my friend, and I am only human.”

“I see.” Enjolras paused dawdling awkwardly at Grantaire’s doorstep. This is what struck Grantaire as weird. Not that Enjolras outside her room in early hours of the morning, even if she rarely did come outside of meetings. It was her presence. She seemed nervous and that was never Enjolras’ way, it was unsettling to say the least.

“Please come in.” Grantaire said after a few moments.

Enjolras smiled gratefully and hurried inside with a small bag that Grantaire eyed curiously. Grantaire’s lodgings wasn’t so big, only a sitting room a kitchen and a bedroom, yet Enjolras walked around curiously, picking up a book here and there and then putting it back down as quickly as she picked it up. Grantaire just leaned on the door frame and watched her, unsure of what to do. It was something she was used to; watching Enjolras. Grantaire was not generally the patient type, but she let Enjolras fidget about her the sitting area before she sat on the couch and crossed her ankles calmly.

“I’m in need of your help.” She said finally.

“Of course,” Grantaire didn’t know exactly what she wanted but she didn’t hesitate before saying yes. “Whatever you need I’m here.”

“I need to room with you for a while.” Enjolras started. “I’m aware that it’s a lot to ask and we are not the closest, but I don’t have anywhere else to go. I could stay with Bahorel I suppose but she always gets more rowdy than usual when she’s drunk, which I usually find charming but isn’t really conducive for a living environment, and I don’t think Bossuet’s landlord will take to kindly on a stranger who isn’t paying rent staying with her and I’m not one to try _her_ luck and- oh.” Enjolras paused enough to look at Grantaire who had become still. “You do not want me here? Well that is understandable of course. I won’t impose any further.”

Grantaire rushed next to her and held her hand in an effort to calm her down. “No! Of course I want you here! I’m just shocked I suppose. If you don’t mind, may I ask why?”

Enjolras stayed silent. “I am to be married.”

“Oh.”

“Obviously it is not something I want for myself but my parents are unbending in this respect.” The fire had come back into her eyes, and it both soothed and worried Grantaire. The Enjolras’ were very rich and whenever they wanted their daughter found, they could do so quite easily.

“I-“

“Do you know Joly is to be married as well?” Enjolras cut her across before she even started.

“I did not.” Grantaire replied.

“Her lover, Marcelle, he asked for her hand in marriage.” Grantaire winced. It was a poorly kept secret that Joly, Bossuet and Marcelle had been lovers for a while. “She accepted. They’re to be wed in six months. Her time with us is limited now. Not because Marcelle demanded it, he is very fair, but because it’s what expected her.  We’re all from different classes in life. If we are all married it’s quite possible we will never be able to speak to each other again.”

“I’m aware.” Grantaire murmured, she was still holding her hands, and squeezed tighter.

“Well I won’t do it.”

Grantaire refrained from saying. _‘Yes you will. We all will. It’s inevitable really,’_ And instead said. “I only have the one bed so we have to share. Do you want some tea before bed?”

* * *

 

Grantaire woke up the next morning with Enjolras’ arms wrapped around her body. It was disconcerting at first, so used she was to sleeping on her own. She smiled at the lithe figure on top of her, careful not to move too much, and remembering the distress of the golden haired girl that night and the way she only calmed down when she wrapped her arms around her tightly, kissed her forehead.

Enjolras shifted on top of her, a tiny smile gracing her lips, and opened her eyes blearily. She made no move to get off of Grantaire, and so they lay there in that same position for a while.

It took a while, but Grantaire nudged Enjolras to get up and they both sat up, Grantaire was ready to get up and start making breakfast when Enjolras’ words stopped her cold.

“Do you desire me Grantaire?” Enjolras asked idly adjusting the pillows behind her.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.” Grantaire’s cheeks tinted pink.

“Yes you do.” Enjolras affirmed looking at Grantaire steadily. “Would you have me?”

“I...” Enjolras cut her off by kissing her awkwardly on the side of her mouth and pulling away.

Grantaire touched her lips softly and gazed at Enjolras in wonder. Enjolras tried again, this time kissing her firmly on the mouth. Her lips were soft on hers and they moved hesitantly and unsure. Grantaire took over the kiss, holding the back of her head gently and kissing her fervently. Enjolras melted in her arms, and let herself be guided.  They kissed sweetly for what seemed like forever, but what was probably only a few minutes.

Grantaire pulled away and Enjolras followed her with her lips, desperate for more. Grantaire hummed, a small smile of wonder still on her face, and pressed a tender kiss to her collarbone. She eased her own chemise off, and then Enjolras’ so that they were completely naked with each other. Enjolras eyes roved down her body, eyes burning, apparently unashamed with her nudity, and more interested in Grantaire’s.

Grantaire was less confident.

Grantaire attacked her lips more passionately, if only to take the attention off herself. Enjolras met her passion with her own, running her hands through her black, curly tresses as Grantaire pushed her back, so she lay flat, and straddled her.

She paid attention to Enjolras’ pert breasts, taking a nipple into her mouth, smiling a little as Enjolras gasped at the sensation, her hands still running through Grantaire’s hair. She continued to roam down her body, sticking her tongue in her navel, sucking bruises into her hipbones. Enjolras’ lips were parted, her body lost in the sensation. When she finally reached between her legs she paused, blowing a puff of hot air on her entrance cunt. She took her into her mouth and Enjolras’ hips bucked. Grantaire moved her hands up; holding her hips down as she slowly tasted her love, pulling back only once to say.

“You taste lovely.”  

Using two fingers to part her lips, she drove her tongue into her wetness. Circling her clit with her tongue, as Enjolras hips, moved wildly above her, even as they were restrained. She pressed a finger inside of her, as her tongue moved against her nub. Enjolras’ cries were like music to her, she moaned so sweetly Grantaire couldn’t help but follow suit. She played her like a symphony, her finger moving slowly and her tongue moving faster as she brought her to a beautiful climax. Grantaire soothed her hands on her hips and she felt her love come beneath her. She moved her fingers faster now, riding her through her orgasm.

She slowly kissed her way back up her over sensitised body, kissing her mouth again, as Enjolras returned her kisses excitedly.

“Tell me what to do.” She basically mewled against her lips.

Grantaire directed her, and soon Enjolras had two fingers in Grantaire thrusting slowly, much to Grantaire’s dismay. Enjolras though, got the idea soon enough and started moving her fingers faster, running them up her inner lips and thrusting back in again. She used her thumb and began rubbing her clit in circles and Grantaire’s finger’s tangled in the sheets as she rode Enjolras’ fingers wildly, coming hard and fast.

Enjolras moved back up to lie next to Grantaire, their bodies both slick with sweat.

“This year will be different for us Grantaire,” She whispered in her ear. “For everyone.”

* * *

 

The year 1832 came and it really did bring changes to their lives.

Joly’s wedding was beautiful. Her gown was beautiful and there were flowers woven into her hair, courtesy of Prouvaire. Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Prouvaire were the only ones in attendance. She smiled the entire time, and only got a melancholy air around her when she remembered that Bossuet wasn’t there.

Bossuet conceded to her brother’s terms right around the time Joly stopped coming to meetings. It was easy to find her a husband because of her sizeable dowry. He was young, and from a wealthy family. He liked her good nature and charm and she found him pleasant enough.

Prouvaire got married soon after. He was a kind and wealthy businessman who wanted a beautiful wife to smile at parties and entertain guests. She had to dress elegantly now, there were never any more flowers in her hair. She wasn’t quite happy, but she was content.  

Feuilly had married a peasant farmer she had fallen in love with. She had found him charming and kind. He had let her keep her shop, but she opened very rarely, now more concerned with taking care of her family.

Enjolras’ parents found her later that year, and took her back home, she accepted this with grace and a haughty glare at anyone they basically paraded her in front of. She was married off to a magistrate two times her age.  He was stern and steadfast but still generous and good.

Grantaire was next. She went much more quietly than the others, without even a complaint. The man her parents found for her was warm-hearted and well to do. He liked her well enough, and he had the means to take care of her. She couldn’t drink the way she did before, a glass of wine with dinner or at evenings with his friends. She missed her friends dearly, and so many times did her mind wander back to those cold nights when she had someone she loved in her arms to keep her warm, and those warm nights where the heat was stifling and yet still she didn't let go, but she had long ago accepted that that is what her life would be.

Combeferre, Bahorel and Courfeyrac all got married in similar ways.

Sometimes they would see each other on the streets of Paris. They would give each other a polite wave, or sometimes a tight smile. The women they were had died a long time ago, now they were just ghosts of their former selves, buried in the ashes along with their past hopeful dreams.

* * *

“I am afraid of getting older… I am afraid of getting married. Spare me from cooking three meals a day—spare me from the relentless cage of routine and rote. I want to be free… I want, I want to think, to be omniscient…”

— | **Sylvia Plath written in 1949 at age 17**  
---|---  
  
**Author's Note:**

> \- I always read Grantaire as super queer, but really confused about it, because he likes sex with women well enough, but he also likes sex with men, and he's not sure where he fits. Bisexuality didn't exist in that time so I imagine if I was right it would make for a sad, confused person. So I kind of just switched that around for this story.
> 
> \- I pretty much prefer femmejolras and grosstaire so that's basically what they look like here.
> 
> -I think if they were born women in this time, their personality would remain the same for the most part, but certain things won't be the same. Since they would have been raised differently and none of them, besides Feuilly were born so desperately poor that the world wouldn't care for them, there are still some societal expectations they have to live up to. I hope I managed to portray that and not butcher their characterizations completely.
> 
> -And I didn't mean to say that marriage was a "bad, terrible thing". In fact I think it's beautiful. But in any world these characters are meant for greatness, for a brutal blaze of glory type existence. Not necessarily dying bloody, but never normal life. I just imagine that living in this time, with so little rights, unable to pursue careers they really want or being who they truly want to be, it would be like a character death of sorts.
> 
> -If you have any questions please feel free to ask. Comments and constructive criticism are both greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading.


End file.
